A Matter of Happenstance
by Emochromatic
Summary: Dying slowly in the back of a cart is not the way Szayel pictured himself going. Neither did he expect to meet a certain pink-haired Fukutaicho... A oneshot exploring what may have happened if the two had ever met. Please review; this is my first fic.


A Matter of Happenstance

It was a matter of happenstance surely, that they'd met. The two of them… so similar. It sickened him that they were so alike, made the small variations between them all the more crucial.

But of course, it was no accident of circumstance and no malicious twist of fortune's graces. He was selected through cold logic, a precise decision he too would have made given the option. Only, he would have been the victor. Not the other. The deciding factor was time, not brilliance or capability, for they were equally matched in both, loathe as he was to admit it.

And now all he wanted was to die. Gone his ambitions, once so important and now as transient as childhood. Gone his pride, impaled on a broken sword. Gone. All desire fled but this last one before the terrible agony of his state between semi awareness and death. What he wouldn't give to end that torment.

"Throw.. him… in…the…cart…with…the…others.."

_His_ voice, slurred and distant, carried unpleasantly to his ears. It was an age before he felt slim fingers haul him up gracelessly and toss him into a covered wooden structure. The cart presumably, from the feel of it. His chest throbbed as his injury reopened, sending jagged waves of heat flooding through his body. His heart squeezed painfully, pumping the blood out of his veins, but too slowly. The closer he got to death, the slower he seemed to die. His veins were dry; the blood only trickled out drop by drop.

The arid, withering heat that ran through his arteries in place of his sluggish blood ran also through his throat and lungs. He breathed heat, breathed the desert sand of Hueco Mundo, and he could feel himself drying up from the inside, his lungs desiccating to shriveled things, his trachea closing off, leaving his tongue bloated and papery, but also sharp in his mouth like broken glass. He could not see; the heat had boiled away his sight.

"Nemu…give…him…a…blood…transfusion…and…patch…up…that…wound…I'd…like…at… least…one…living…test…subject…"

_Let me die…let me die…_

Szayel Aporro Granz would have cried if his eyes would shed the tears, but his tear ducts were empty, atrophied from disuse. He never cried. Never. And now he couldn't. He whimpered as a sudden cold entered his arm, spreading through his stagnant veins. It originated from a thin, bright sliver of pain; a needle. They were transfusing life back into him.

He cursed them silently and despaired.

Fever dreams writhed beneath his skin, sucking up his flickering vitality. He lay in a state of malaise, his senses so hyperaware that the clarity of his surroundings was compromised by his ability to perceive them, and thus they faded into the general haze of his consciousness. The cart jolted as it hit a stone, and he found himself rolling over onto a soft, fleshy _thing._ No not just a thing, another body. A corpse.

He could not see who it was, but then, he didn't have to. The musky scent that filled his nostrils, like hay and sweat, and the feel of silken hair against his cheek were familiar enough to him that he immediately knew who it was. Yylfordt Granz; his brother. The irony struck him powerfully, and he felt nauseous until the cart hit another rut and finally jolted him off his former experiment. In that moment, he found he did not want to die after all. Mayuri was as cruel and compassionless as he; ethics did not intrude upon his conscience. Who knew what disgusting things the scientist had planned? Anything Szayel himself was capable of, he had to assume applied to Mayuri as well.

He considered this sobering line of thought until the cart rumbled to a halt. Panicking, he raced his erratic heartbeat, catching up and forcing it to slow as he prepared himself for what followed. Nothing happened. He lay abandoned among the silent machinery and jars of pickled specimens and corpses and reams after ream of notes and blueprints stolen from his lab. Outside this islet of stillness, the sounds of battle raged, and even at this distance he was aware of the terrifyingly vast reiatsus that clashed on the battlefield. Yammy, the cero and decima Espada, had met two Shinigami that not only matched but surpassed him in strength.

Szayel had just decided that he'd rather die and not be aware of the torture in store for him when a new presence intruded upon his solitude. A high, cheerful voice piped up near his ear, its tone curious and bright with the lilting tones of youth.

"Ne ne! Mayurin…'s got weird…hobbies!" the girl proclaimed excitedly. She giggled, poking him with one stubby finger.

She was young. A child and a Shinigami. Szayel wondered who she belonged to, for who would bring a child to Las Noches? Someone reckless… perhaps one of the two fighting Yammy? Then again, there was something about her that set him on edge… That was it; her reiatsu was disproportionately heavy for her age. Fukutaichou level at least.

"Hey," she said slyly, poking him again. "You alive?"

It was so difficult to move… the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. But he finally managed to jerk his frozen muscles into a curt nod. She clapped her hands delightedly and laughed.

"Oh good!… Dead people… aren't very… interesting!"

She slid off her perch, clambering over to him fearlessly and hovering at his side. He could almost feel her eyes scrutinizing his features critically and wondered what she saw.

"Your hair… is pink!… Just like… mine!" she exclaimed.

Her small cool hands ran through his hair, tickling his scalp and bringing up a lock for closer inspection. She rubbed a thumb experimentally over the purple markings beneath his eye and his painted lips, and he could only imagine her expression when no color came away. Would she be disappointed? Amused? Would it even matter to her?

"Huh… you're not… wearing makeup?"

She sounded curious, and he got the distinct impression that she was tilting her head questioningly. She plucked at his shirtsleeves, then trailed her fingers over the material of his clothing, and after a great deal of scrutiny, she finally scooted back and gave him room, but not for long. She pelted him with a barrage of questions that left him bewildered and feeling claustrophobic.

"Why… are you wearing… a dress? Are… you a boy…or a girl?…How come… you don't have…any extra arms…or funny ears…or something…like the others?… Oh wait, you… have things coming… out of your back… nevermind…Where is your…hole?…What rank…are you? What's… your name?"

She paused, waiting for a reply, and when she got no immediate answer, she prodded him again impatiently.

"Hey… can't you speak?"

Something he could answer… something that would stop the stream of bubbly chatter that poured from her mouth. If the first nod had seemed Herculean in difficulty, shaking his head was a godly effort, but somehow he managed it, and as soon as she saw this tiny motion, she brightened.

"Oh! Clown-tan… did something to… you, huh?"

She seemed to consider this bit of information, as she did not speak up again for a long while. Or perhaps it was only a few seconds; his perception of time was skewed, and it was a miracle that he could distinguish the spoken word at all, however slowly. He supposed it meant the drug was starting to run its course.

"This is boring…I'm bored…" she finally remarked, sounding cranky. She tapped her fingers against the wooden floor of the cart, humming tunelessly. After a minute of this, she shifted position, sitting back on her heels. Her voice piped up as she lit upon another conversation piece; as long as she was talking, it seemed, she was happy.

"Oh! I didn't… tell you my…name. Its Yachiru. Ken…chan gave me… that name. Its… a good name, right?… Ken-chan is so… smart. Most… people don't think… so, but they're… just stupid. I… know he is…. Anyways, he's stronger… than everyone else, so… they can't complain… or he'll beat 'em… up! He's super… nice too! He rescued Yachi… when she was a baby… hee! I can even… remember every detail… of when I first met him…. Yachi is smart too!"

_Damnit… I don't think she's going to kill me… why can't someone else have found me…_

"Hmm… I wonder… maybe I can help you? … Ken-chan is busy… fighting, so I… have nothing to do… and as long as you don't… run off or…something… Mayurin can't complain. Yachi knows about… his nasty drugs… and stuff; she looks… around his lab when… he isn't looking... Heehee!… He never catches me… 'cause I'm sneaky… I've got loads… of hidden tunnels, and… I make Nemu keep… them a secret… 'cause I'm the President… of the Shinigami Women's… Association, so she has… to do what I say!"

This was news to him. Perhaps… perhaps he had a third option after all, one that did not end in death or torture. Whoever this child was, she seemed to have connections, and not only did she run a successful intelligence system and hold a measure of sway over that contemptible Shinigami's daughter, she was delightfully naïve as well. Unless it was merely that she was too bored to care for the consequences of her actions, or too self-assured of her own abilities. They were equally probable; the girl was bored and she had an aura of confidence about her born of getting what she wanted when she wanted it.

Szayel felt hope flutter in his chest for a moment… then he pushed it away, ignoring the delicate stirrings. It was far too early for hope; there were too many variables, and he did not wish to add the agony of another failure to his current suffering. If he reached for it and fell short, the pain would be unbearable. So he didn't. He left his hope fluttering and turned to his cold, rational side for answers and grounding that would not give way should his tentative plans prove unsuccessful. First, he must learn exactly how well Yachiru knew Mayuri's "nasty drugs" and how "sneaky" she really was, but how to bring the matter up if he could not speak? How could he tell her what he needed?

The difficulty of the task that faced him filled him with dread, and he assumed a fatalistic attitude towards his undertaking; he'd have to accept his victories where he could…

"Lets see… so you can't talk… umm… Oh! I know! Yachi'll… ask ya what Mayurin… used on you, and… you can nod or shake your… head. Right? You can… move your head? … Then when you nod… I'll know what… I need to get to fix… you! Ok?"

The girl was a godsend! Szayel had never believed in luck, nor had he ever entrusted his fate to chance, but it seemed that fortune was with him. He forced himself to nod, fighting back a crippling wave of relief. Yachiru giggled and clapped her hands again.

"Hurray! Pinky-chan is… fun to play with!"

_That's right… I'm fun to play with. Keep on playing… _

"Umm… well its not his… Shikai poison or else… you wouldn't move… and its not the giant… baby thing's poison or… you'd be coughing up blood… and your skin would turn purple… and you'd die and stuff…"

Szayel listened to her babble on, at once surprised by her knowledge of Mayuri's admittedly impressive array of toxins and frustrated that they were making no progress. He shook his head mechanically now, and had just begun to tune out her stream of chatter when the description of one of the drugs caught his attention. Suddenly, nothing seemed more important than that one, unnamed liquid. Every ounce of his concentration went into listening, and he felt his breath catch as the hope he'd brushed aside rose to choke him with anticipation.

"And then there's this… funny blue one… it's a really pretty… color. That one… makes everything really slow… except Ne-chan says it… actually makes things so fast… that they… seem slow… 'cause ya can't… keep up. Uh… what was it called… the super… the super human drug? … I think that's a silly name, since… its not like any of… us are humans… so shouldn't it be… super Shinigami?"

Yachiru paused as she noticed him nodding his head as vigorously as he could, which wasn't very vigorous but certainly more noticeable than before. His shoulders trembled slightly as he convulsed with silent weeping; the euphoria that struck him was so powerful.

"That's it? That's… the one?"

He nodded again.

"Yay! That's easy then!… I'll be right back."

She scampered off, leaving him alone in the cart and reeling from the emotions that assaulted him with the advent of his possible survival.

By the time she returned, Yammy was dead. He could feel the instant his spiritual pressure gave out, and his physical fall was so dramatic, even the cart shuddered from the impact. His death left a void which the two Shinigami captains filled with their own power, facing off against each other. Mayuri, that damned excuse for a scientist, was an irritating presence in the background, but at the very least he wasn't hovering over him. With luck, he'd be too occupied with Yammy's corpse to bother checking in on him

"Pinky-chaaan! Yachi… got what'cha need!"

She announced her return with what he'd grown to understand was her typical exuberance, an emotion that was unusual to him living among the cynical Arrancar. This was all a game to her, and she was enjoying herself immensely. Oddly enough, Szayel did not resent her for it. Her vivacity in the face of his misery did not inspire antipathy. Much to his surprise, he found it impossible to hate her. She annoyed him, yes, but he did not hate her.

_Perhaps its because she treats this all so carelessly. She isn't doing this out of pity or misguided idealism, but for her own amusement._

Or maybe it was because she was the lighthearted counterpart to his own nature; curious, playful, inquisitive, with none of the jaded dispassion that afflicted both Mayuri and himself.

"Um… I need to inject… the medicine. Nemu… told me once that… it works fastest… that way."

An injection. Szayel's euphoria faltered, replaced by anxiety. If she administered it wrong, he would die.

Why had he hoped…

"Ne-chan also says… that ya gotta give… an "air shot" before… you inject anything."

…Was it wrong to feel grateful towards Mayuri's bastard child? Szayel chalked the unwelcome emotion up to his unstable mental state and waited for the injection with slightly less apprehension. That she was an amateur was obvious; he winced as the needle entered his arm clumsily and knew it would bruise, but what was this temporary discomfort when faced with the prospect of freedom? Nothing; he'd been through worse. He could have laughed from the joy of it. Freedom. Life. Never had living seemed so important.

The seconds crawled by, slower than ever. Yachiru's optimism was infectious, and the anticipation drove him insane. The Shinigami child herself had subsided somewhat; she was no longer bouncing up and down with manic energy while she waited, though she did resume her tuneless humming. Szayel breathed a frustrated sigh and endured the exquisite torment of at once being so close to his goal and so far away.

His pulse quickened when he could finally listen to her sing to herself without the jerky breaks between words, and opening his eyes to a world full of light was more wonderful than he'd ever thought possible. Yachiru smiled when she saw his eyelids flutter open, and he offered a wan smile in return, surprising himself.

"So, Pinky-chan can talk now?" she asked brightly.

It was an exhilarating feeling when he realized he could speak again.

"My name is Szayel Aporro Granz, I am the Octava Espada, probably higher rank now that everyone else is dead, I am male, this is not a dress, it is part of my released form, I am not wearing makeup, that clown is though, your hair color is rather fetching, and as for the location of my Hollow hole… that information is undisclosed. So yes, I'd say I can talk now."

"You remembered!"

She was delighted by this simple fact; her face crinkled up as she laughed, and her smile was one of genuine elation. Szayel was mystified by her reaction. She was a maelstrom of energy, responding to every little thing with a rare enthusiasm and candidness unmatched by any he'd known before. It was a little disorienting to interact with her.

"Yes," he ventured cautiously, subdued in the face of her intensity.

"So you were the Octava? That's number eight, right? Huh. Ken-chan is much stronger than you. He killed Spoony-kun and Spoony-kun said he was number five."

"Your Captain… killed Jiruga?"

"Yup! Then he and Byakushi went and killed that Yammy guy. Boy was he ugly, and sooo big! Like Doggy-san's Bankai. Ken-chan did most of the work, but I still like Byakushi, even if Ken-chan doesn't. Those two argue a lot. They're arguing right now."

Her Captain sounded like a monster, defeating the Quinta with enough stamina to take on Yammy's release form and stage a fight against another Captain level Shinigami. Byakushi, or whatever his name really was. Well, Nnoitra and Yammy both relied on their brute strength to win battles. It didn't require much talent to beat them.

"So then," he asked softly, cutting in, "Who are you?"

She looked puzzled by this question.

"I'm Yachiru, but didn't I already say that? Um… oh! Maybe you mean what rank I am or something? Well I'm the Fukutaichou of the Eleventh Division, the youngest seated officer in the Seireitei… and well… the youngest Shinigami in the Seireitei too I bet… Hitsuji complains that everyone treats him like a kid, but I don't have a problem with that! People give me candy when I want, and I can do whatever I feel like, and explore and stuff. I have to do paperwork… which really stinks, but I pawn that off onto Yumirin and Pachinko ball head. Hmm… my last name is Kusajishi, but that's not my real last name since I don't actually have one. But I think its pretty."

Listening to her was like trying to make sense of a foreign language. Her narrative was interspersed with a variety of nicknames and allusions he did not understand, but from the general gist of her words, he was able to draw a few concrete details that matched up with information he'd gleaned earlier. She was, as he'd suspected, a Fukutaichou despite her age, and she was an orphan.

Something about the second bit of information roused a sleeping awareness in the back of his mind. Szayel reached for this tenuous inkling, only to find it scuttle away from him teasingly. He withdrew, leaving it alone but feeling unsettled. He hated uncertainty, hated it with a passion, and so much had become uncertain to him in the past hours. His own philosophy had been found wanting, his worth as a scientist brought into question.

"What do you think of Kurotsuchi?" he asked, stalling as he struggled to remember. Something seemed incredibly important about that elusive memory…

"He's weird, but funny!"

"…Funny?"

"Yeah. He makes interesting stuff in his lab and he's fun to tease. Sometimes I can get him to give me stuff for free; he gets irritated when I bring up Hat-chan 'cause Hat-chan used to be his Taichou before he was exiled and it makes him mad when people compare them."

An interesting piece of information. Szayel smirked, imagining the clown-faced Captain as someone's subordinate. It helped him stomach the humiliation of his defeat.

"So you like to irritate him?"

Yachiru considered this idea, her face scrunching up as she thought.

"Uh huh. Its fun to make him frustrated since he always pretends to be so cool," she replied.

"I see. Would you like to help me play a prank on him then?"

Her eyes brightened, and she jumped to her feet, performing a dizzying pirouette as a broad grin spread across her face.

"Yay! A prank, a prank!"

She flopped back down, dripping charm as she sidled up to him expectantly.

"So? What trick are we gonna play on Mayurin?"

"I don't know if I can trust you. You Shinigami came to kill us after all."

Yachiru's face turned stormy as the possibility that she would be excluded from this new game presented itself. Instead of throwing a fit, however, she sulked, offended by his intimations.

"Yachi won't double-cross or anything. Sza-chan is stupid… stupid and mean."

"Oh really? Do you promise to go along with my plan and not tell?"

Yachiru scoffed.

"Of course! I keep my promises; I'm not a baby."

She was so wonderfully innocent. Szayel offered her an indulgent smile and nodded.

"Alright then; I trust you. I'll tell you what I have planned. We have to hurry, though… if Mayuri comes back before we can start, it will all be ruined."

Yachiru bounced up and down gleefully, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"I'll be quick! Yachi is super fast! So tell? Please?"

"Oh… I'll do better. I'll show you," he replied.

Szayel sat up with the sound of rustling cloth and leaned over the shocked girl. Her mahogany eyes widened as she registered his sudden movement, and she instinctively scooted back a few inches, opening her mouth to shout. He knew what she was thinking; he shouldn't be moving. He reached forward, capturing the startled Fukutaichou in his arms and wrapped one slender hand over her mouth, cutting off the beginnings of a scream. The violet tips of his nails rested against her cheek, and he tapped them teasingly, making soothing noises all the while.

"Shh shh… don't fret. Didn't you promise me you'd play along? Are you going to break your promise?"

She stilled against him, ceasing her struggling, and shook her head stubbornly. Szayel released her, and she gave him a troubled, sidelong glance as she straightened.

"You're not supposed to be able to move…" she muttered plaintively, and Szayel chuckled as he crouched in front of her at eye level. He moved slowly and carefully, as if dealing with a flighty animal, and she rewarded him with a contemptuous look. _I know what you're doing_ her eyes seemed to say, _And I'm not impressed._ He chuckled again and tilted her chin up with one of his tapered fingers, examining her face. She jumped at his initial contact, then set her chin stubbornly, her cheeks flushing from the guilt of having shown weakness.

The capricious idea that haunted him stepped forward, offering itself up with a wink, and he smiled, triumphant.

Oh yes, _there_ it was. Her eye color, the same as… well… of course, it could all still be a monumental coincidence, and his speculations just that. But Szayel never settled for coincidence as an answer. The meticulous Espada researched all possibilities before drawing conclusions, for doubts were unsatisfactory and troublesome things. Reaching up, he plucked a few strands of hair from her head, watching with amusement as she winced and bit her lip. Szayel stood up, looking down at her with a playful expression.

"Thank you Yachiru-chan. You've done splendidly, and I am sorry that I don't have anything to give you right now. However, I'll make you something fun later. More fun than anything Kurotsuchi could make you. I'll find you when I'm done; its why I need your hair, so I can find you, like Mayuri does, and give it to you. You understand?"

Yachiru nodded, her eyes flickering at the mention of a present, and she reached up to touch the place where he'd tugged a few hairs from her scalp. She still seemed a little dubious, and her mouth curled down in a small frown, but she did not race off to tell her Captain or Mayuri that the Espada who was supposed to be near death was up and about, extorting promises and making promises of his own. The reason he'd given was a blatant if convincing lie, but she did not need to know that.

"Wonderful. I'll be seeing you soon. Goodbye Yachiru."

"Goodbye!" she called after him impulsively.

He left her standing in the cart, looking sweet and wide-eyed with lingering surprise, but also bold. It wasn't her nature to remain cowed for long, and even as he cast a backward glance over his shoulder, she scrunched up her face and blew him a raspberry, pulling down the skin under her eye so that it showed grotesquely.

"Nyah! You better keep your promise and bring me something interesting!" she threatened.

The Octava traced a line through the air, and where his finger touched, a widening crack followed, growing until a yawning maw of torrential energy stretched before him.

"Of course I will," he said, then stepped through.

_Of course I will, __**dear**__ sister…_

Szayel kissed the strands of fuchsia hair in his hand and laughed.


End file.
